


A Long Journey’s Night

by Curator



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Gen, if you can’t trust yourself who can you trust, s07e25 Endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 10:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21034445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curator/pseuds/Curator
Summary: A late-night visitor to Captain Janeway’s quarters wants to talk.





	A Long Journey’s Night

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Caladeniablue for her beta work proving, as always, two heads are better than one.

The door to her quarters slides open without even the courtesy of a chime. 

“It’s the middle of the night,” the captain calls, unnecessarily, from the sleeping area. 

The admiral’s snort barely precedes her into the alcove. “You have at least another hour of tossing and turning, don’t you? What’s on your mind tonight?”

The captain doesn’t answer, even when a wrinkled hand lifts an upper corner of the blanket.

“Move over.”

“Is that an order?”

It’s dark, but the captain knows the admiral is rolling her eyes. 

The younger woman dutifully shuffles away from her silver-haired counterpart.

“Let me think,” the admiral says as she slides into the bed. “The safety of the Ocampans? If you could have deployed the spatial trajector if you’d bargained for it yourself? Whether you should have gone back for more stable dilithium to re-attempt warp 10?”

The captain pulls the sheet under her chin, ignoring that the admiral has done the same. “Are you going in chronological order?”

The admiral chortles. “Despite our current situation, I do, still, despise time travel. But, your question tells me that tonight’s sleep inhibitor must be —”

The captain stiffens. “Get out.”

“All right.” The admiral fluffs her pillow. “We won’t talk about that.”

For a few moments, they separately ponder shared choices. Then, with a wince, the captain presses her fingertips to her temples. 

“It’s not stress,” the admiral offers. “Or caffeine. The headaches are from eye strain. Trust your people more. Read fewer reports.”

The captain turns so her back is to the admiral. 

Their breathing is identical. Deliberate, as if they can control even this instinctive act.

“Mom died.” The admiral stares at the ceiling she knows so well. “Twenty-four years from now. Two years ago for me. It was peaceful. Her second husband woke up one morning and she didn’t. The funeral was well-attended, but we kept the burial to family only. It was autumn, which seemed appropriate.”

“Mom remarries?” The captain can’t keep the scorn out of her voice.

“Not everyone elevates self-denial to an art form.”

Both women know they have been insulted.

The captain shifts so she, too, stares at the ceiling.

“What’s it like,” she asks, “being back on _Voyager_?”

__

The admiral’s exhale comes out with a tremor.

__

When the silence stretches, the captain knows it’s not because the older woman doesn’t know what to say. It’s that she doesn’t know how to say it.

__

“Just spit it out,” the captain orders. 

__

“A gilded prison is still a cage,” the admiral says. “You couldn’t ask for a better crew, for a better ship. But these bulkheads will keep closing in on you until you can’t breathe, until the thrum of the warp core is all you hear, until your eyelids light up red alert red every night until you start screaming.”

__

The captain closes her eyes and sees hints of crimson. 

__

“The screaming stops when you realize no one heard it anyway.” The admiral rolls onto her side, looks at the starlit younger version of herself. “It’ll be okay, Kathryn. We’re made of strong stuff.”

__

The compliment is as true as the earlier insult, but neither woman takes pleasure in it. 

__

“Was he nice to Mom?”

__

The admiral takes the captain’s hand. “Nicer than Daddy was. He didn’t miss her birthday because he got called in to headquarters. He listened to her. He would put his arm around her in public and not worry about what other people might think. I learned a lot from him.”

__

The captain doesn’t pull her hand away. 

__

They fall asleep like this and wake up fifty-three minutes later, hearts pounding. 

__

The admiral speaks first. “Diagnostic cycle. There’s nothing wrong with the core.”

__

The captain tilts her head, listening. Then she exhales, the small sound of air rushing over her teeth signaling agreement. 

__

Their eyes close, but they can’t slip back into sleep. 

__

“Why did you come?”

__

The question could mean back in time to bring  _ Voyager _ home sooner, but the admiral knows that’s not what the captain is asking. 

__

“I remember a lot of lonely nights in this bed,” the admiral says. 

__

There’s no regret in her voice. Only sympathy. Empathy, the captain realizes. She squeezes the admiral’s hand. 

__

The admiral squeezes back. 

__

They fall asleep again and, hours later, will burst into identical laughter at the unusual delight of the computer voice awakening them by announcing the time.

__


End file.
